


Romance is Dead

by RandySexKitten



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-04
Updated: 2004-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandySexKitten/pseuds/RandySexKitten





	Romance is Dead

“Did you see this?” Naya turns the newspaper so that I can read it. The headline reads Romance is Dead. 

“That’s such a crock,” I mutter as I turn back to my book. “Why are you reading that, anyway?”

Naya shrugs and drops the paper to the table before reaching for the ceiling, stretching out her taut body. 

Her small breasts point to the sky, her nipples hardening against the soft cotton of her T. Those beautiful pieces of flesh fit perfectly in my hand. I can pinch her nipples between my index finger and thumb while kneading the fleshy part with my palm and fingers.

“… and I really think people would like it.”

Her voice pulls me away from my inspection of her perfect breasts and I intelligently reply, “Huh?”

She laughs. 

You know, I loved her before I ever heard her voice. But it was her laugh that bound me to her. She laughs with everything that she is. There are no coy mannerisms or subtle plays for attention. When she is amused, her entire body screams it.

She’s still smiling at me and I have to lean in and kiss her. “Tell me what you said.” I press my lips against hers for only a fraction of a second before I pull away. She looks so amazing. Her eyes are closed and her lips are partially open. Her tongue lies in wait, eager to pounce when mine is close. I grin. “Naya, tell me what you said, baby.”

She opens her eyes, rolling them at me in that oh so familiar way. “I said, they’re asking for submissions. They want stories about true romance. How people met, that sort of thing.” She leans down to scratch her ankle. “I think you should write our story up. Submit it.”

She sits back up and grins at me. “After all, your words started it all.”

Naya levels a knowing smile at me. A quick kiss and she is padding out of the room, looking more than cute in her worn out t-shirt and white briefs. I close my book and pull off my glasses, setting them down. Naya, that little so and so, has got me thinking.

We met over the internet. I had begun reading Harry Potter fan fiction. It was a guilty pleasure for me, and was something that I kept hidden from everyone in my life. After a few months of reading, I dipped my toe in the water, dropping a short story into a chat group.

Surprisingly, I was overwhelmed with responses. People seemed to crave my writing, and I found myself spending more and more time on my computer, ignoring my boyfriend and rushing through my work. All I wanted to do was lurk online.

One night I was writing when a messenger window pinged open. The person on the other end called herself Jasmina. She was shy, uncertain. She told me that there was something about my writing, that there was something about me.

She told me that she got feelings about people and that when she ‘clicked’ with people, it was lifetime material. Apparently she had felt this ‘click’ with me. I was intrigued. I mean this person; she just blew into my life. 

By this time, my boyfriend had demanded that I spend more time off the computer, that I dedicate some time to us. I tried, I really did, but we ended up breaking up about a month after I met ‘Jasmina’ for the first time.

I cried on her. I would race home from work every day and log on, hoping that she would be there. One night, she asked me my name. I couldn’t help it, I told her.

Then she told me hers. It was like music… Naya. 

She was intelligent, well spoken and a delight to talk to. We met every night, chatting through messenger. I left the fandom, no longer interested in reading fiction when I could spend my time wooing Naya. And I was wooing her.

Three months after our first chat, I was in love. Naya was my other half; I knew it like I knew that my eyes were green. She felt the same way. Soon, I had pictures of her posted around my apartment, her dark skin and flashing gray eyes teasing me from every nook and cranny.

Naya needed me like no one else ever had. She wanted to belong to me, to be claimed. And claim her I did. Each time she acquiesced, I felt a thrill down to my toes. I wanted nothing more than to take her into my arms. I began to fantasize about kissing her, taking that plum colored bottom lip and sucking it into my mouth.

Three months later and my phone bills were unmanageable. I was addicted to her voice, her laugh. The husky sounds of her words were the last thing I heard at night and the second thing I heard in the morning, after my alarm. 

So, when Naya finished up the school year, she cleaned up her classroom, packed her bags and her cat, and was in my arms within twelve hours. 

I got my wish. I got to pull that lip into my mouth. I kissed it, licked it, nibbled it and sucked on it. She was so pliant, so perfect. She was taller than I, but much smaller, and I could wrap myself around her.

She was the first woman that I ever kissed. Her breasts were the first that ever pressed into mine; her fingers the first to dip into me.

I took her that night. 

We went back to my apartment, stopping only long enough to set up housekeeping for her cat, Oliver. Then I put her in my bed.

I kissed her gently, then harder, demanding that she accept me as her love, as her owner. Not to dominate, but to possess and love. I removed her clothing piece by piece, wanting to expose all of that chocolaty skin to my view. Her hair was in tiny, tight braids that spilled out from her scalp, wild curls surrounding her face and shoulders. Her cheekbones begged to be licked, so I did.

I uncovered those perfect breasts, marveling at how they differed from my own. I flicked her midnight colored nipples, watching as they darkened even more under my touch. My tongue trailed wet designs over her flesh until she cried out, begging for something more tangible.

Her skin was so soft and offered such a contrast to my own pale form. I spent what seemed to be an hour worshiping her belly. It was soft, feminine, and I wanted nothing more than to lay there for the rest of my life. With her pants gone, I couldn’t help myself. I lay atop her, thrusting down, bringing us both so close to completion.

Unsure, I dipped my fingers into her panties, the same plain white briefs that I still love, and dragged my fingers through coarse hair. I pulled my hand back and she groaned. 

I remember that, her first groan. 

I captured it in my own throat, tearing at my own clothing as I plundered her mouth. My breasts fell out, crushing hers with their weight. She moaned in appreciation and I swallowed that, too.

Her fingers began to trace my skin; every touch like fire, a brand burning into my soul. She peeled off her panties first, and then mine, helping position me so that we both reaped the benefits of each languid thrust.

My beautiful girl showed me where and how to touch. She assured me, more than once, that my manicured fingernails were not weapons and would not shred her. She showed appreciation for my awkward touches by showing me the beauty of her tongue inside me.

She smelled like some type of sweet musk, which grew richer as I reached her center. Her taste exploded across my tongue like spice, and I lost all interest in ever tasting another. 

When we fell asleep hours later, Naya was wrapped in my arms, never again to leave.

I gasp at the sudden weight in my lap. 

“I know what you are thinking of, my sweet.” Naya leans in and kisses me gently. “Write it down, let it out, and we will show the world that romance is far from dead.”

After a final kiss, she is out the door, off to wrangle eight year olds, leaving me with my words.


End file.
